


The case of the rumpled blogger (or how I stopped complaining and learned to love suits)

by hannapalooza



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, PWP, suits!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannapalooza/pseuds/hannapalooza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fairly pointless porny fluff. </p><p>Written for the Johnlock challenges grab bag challenge on Tumblr for hh-cumberbeatle's prompt "I've never done that!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The case of the rumpled blogger (or how I stopped complaining and learned to love suits)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism warmly welcome, thanks for reading.

“What’s wrong?”

John stopped in his tracks in the kitchen doorway. It was frankly creepy that Sherlock could assess his mood without lifting his head from the microscope’s eye piece.

“How did you...oh never mind. Another bloody wedding invite, Rory and Laura this time.” John lazily flipped the thick cream card onto the cluttered table top to catch Sherlock’s eye the next time he looked up. The tastefully embossed gold lettering glinted in the ray of sunlight struggling through the grimy window.

“And the problem is?” Sherlock drawled, still immersed in the slide under his lens.

“I’m not a big fan of weddings, and I  _especially_   hate going to weddings on. My. Own.” He punctuated the final three words in a meaningful fashion. He knew, had always known, that being in a relationship with Sherlock would be out of the ordinary (let’s face it, the lack-of-normality was one of the first things that drew him to the mad detective in the first place) but he couldn’t help but wish that sometimes Sherlock would make a little bit of an effort.

“Subtlety really isn’t your strong suit is it John?” Sherlock commented “Anyway, since most of your friends despise me or” he looked up then, fixing John with a pointed stare “aren’t aware of our particular” he waved his hand eloquently “ _situation_ , I’m rarely invited.”

“Ah ha! Well this time you are. Not a plus one but your actual name on the actual bloody invite. Look!”

Sherlock couldn’t help glancing briefly down at the invite to his left “Bugger. I suppose you think you’re clever now? That you’ve somehow  _entrapped_ me?”

“A little bit yes” John replied smugly. Sherlock favoured him with an indulgent smile and turned back to his microscope.

{~}~{~}~{~}~{~}

“Remind me again why I have to go to this wedding? More to the point why  _you_ want to go, and even more pertinently why you think that me being there will in any way make things better?”

John’s voice is rough and quiet. “God how can your brain be so bloody active this soon after sex? I can barely remember my own name.” He felt rather than heard Sherlock’s languid laugh reverberate through his chest, the soft warm exhalation of his breath.

“If sex with you diminished my brain power do you really think I’d be quite so enthusiastic about it?”

John lazily trailed his fingers along the warm protrusions of Sherlock’s vertebrae, just enough pressure to tickle and raise goose-bumps, delighting in the unconscious shiver he felt through every inch of their touching bodies. “And there was I thinking I was just irresistible and you fancied the arse off me like any normal person.”

“So ordinary my John” Sherlock craned his neck, pressing a gentle kiss against John’s jaw, soothing the sting of the remark “There’s no reason why both can’t be true.”

John tipped his head down a fraction, taking it for the compliment it was and treated to a rare glimpse of a happy and contented Sherlock. He leant down further, kissed the smile beneath him, tightening his arm and gently pushing the boneless and pliant detective onto his back. He rearranged limbs so he was leaning up on one elbow, able to draw approving glances down the perfect length of his lover’s body, couldn’t resist placing a warm palm on the flat planes of the deceptively strong belly beneath him.

“You know I’m not ashamed of you, of us don’t you?” His enquiry was soft, as he searched Sherlock’s face. All he got was the same contented gaze and a shrug, as Sherlock placed a possessive hand on his arse, pressing them together from shoulder to calf, and then a momentary flash of _something_ in his eyes, swiftly quelled.

“The only reason and I mean the  _only_ reason some of my friends don’t know I’m shacked up with you is that I haven’t had the proper opportunity to tell them. You do keep me rather busy you know?”

Sherlock acknowledged the truth with a one sided quirk of a smile.

“The reason I want you to come to the wedding? I could spout all the boring stuff about Rory being one of my oldest friends, that it’s a show of acceptance of us to invite you, that I really like Laura too and know they’re good together...but I know you don’t care about any of that. So, here’s why I want you to come to the wedding with me.”

He grabbed Sherlock’s other hand, pulled it to his mouth and pressed a swift kiss against the knuckle.

“1. Because you’ll look twice as hot as the groom and most of the bridesmaids” He flipped the hand, kissed the tender flesh at the base of his thumb.

“2. Because you’ll be brilliant and will keep me amused all day by divulging all my old school friend’s darkest secrets.” This time he pressed his lips to the paper-thin skin protecting a jumping radial pulse.

“3. Because I want to show off to people that I managed to catch such a rare and gorgeous creature.” He entwined their hands, placing them against Sherlock’s chest before leaning up and capturing his lips in what was meant to be a chaste kiss, until Sherlock characteristically wrested control, a swift and insistent hand suddenly tangled in his hair, drawing the two of them together, mouths opening to each other, stoking their post-coital glow. John (as in most things Sherlock) let himself be swept up for a few blissful moments, until the pressure on the back of his head relented when Sherlock had to break away to pull in a shaky breath.

John continued his voice a little more ragged and unsteady than previously “4.Because I love you. Enough reasons?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes theatrically, pursed his lips into a pout of distaste, but his eyes were still soft. “Urgh you know emotional manipulation doesn’t work on sociopaths John, you’ll have to try harder than that.”

John narrowed his eyes slightly, but he was too warm and relaxed to even attempt to deduce what Sherlock was angling for. “Can’t be arsed, just tell me what you want.”

Sherlock’s immediate smile was both radiant and mischievous. “I want to dress you.”

“I...what?”

He smirked, ran the tip of his tongue across his lips “I want to put you in a beautiful suit. Really John it’s criminal how you hide behind those hideous jumpers when you could look so ravishing.”

John couldn’t help the shiver, felt the blush creep across his face. Sherlock could make even the most clinical or grotesque words sound sinful, but his sex rough voice, pitched low with an edge of hoarseness seemed to vibrate through John’s entire being. _Ravishing_ that was going to stay with him. He swallowed hard “I feel like I’m getting off lightly in this deal, but I’m sure there’s some angle to your request I’m not seeing.”

“There always is John. Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

{~}~{~}~{~}~{~}

 

John had learnt to recognise the signs of Sherlock getting into “character”, he found it fascinating to watch the subtle changes in mannerism, in posture and expression and voice that Sherlock effortlessly shrugged on to suit his needs. But he’d never seen him do it for anything other than a case. Bemused, he trailed three steps behind as the detective stepped through the doors of a drab and non descript tailor on the other side of the city from Savile Row.

A short grey-haired bespectacled man rose from behind the counter to greet them, and John was amused to see the tape measure draped across his shoulders, the pencil behind his ear.

Sherlock swept forward, his arms spread wide and enveloped the tailor in an exuberant full body hug. “Gerald! How wonderful to see you!” His voice was pitched slightly higher, full of warmth. John was entirely non-plussed.

“Mr Holmes, always a pleasure to see you” Gerald replied, muffled by Sherlock’s collar. He extricated himself taking two paces back, and motioned with a finger. Sherlock nodded deferentially, fairly slinked out of his coat, passed it quickly to Gerald and executed a slow twirl, keeping his gaze demurely downturned and away from John’s. Gerald swept a critical yet reverent look down the length of his body. “Looking incredible as always.”

Sherlock tilted his head in a show of embarrassment “Oh Gerald, I am merely the mannequin for your art; I wouldn’t look half as good without your exquisite eye.” John was willing to lay money that Sherlock had just winked at Gerald judging from the pink blush and open mouthed smile adorning his face.

“Today, I have a new model for you though; I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend John.”

John took a step forward, intending to shake Gerald’s hand but he was still fixated on Sherlock. He grabbed both his hands and stepped closer “oh Mr Holmes I’m so glad you’ve finally found someone, that’s splendid news, he must be someone very special.” He turned to John “Come here young man, let me have a look at you.”

John, feeling more discomforted by the second took another step, watching Gerald’s expression turn from glad to bemused as he took in his rumpled jumper and cords combo. “Well” Gerald bit his lip "not what I expected” he coughed, embarrassed “but you’ve bought him to the right place Mr Holmes, I can definitely help.”

Sherlock actually giggled at that, obviously enjoying John’s squirms “Oh Gerald, don’t be mean, he’s really rather delicious without all his layers, it’s not his fault no-one’s ever taught him how to dress properly!”

John snapped his eyes to Sherlock, a warning not to push this character too far, or suffer the consequences later. Sherlock in turn quirked an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth pressed together in barely contained mischief, a plea to play along. John sighed internally, slipped his arm across Sherlock’s waist, pressing them together hip to hip, and looked adoringly up at him “You still noticed me even with my abominable fashion sense.” He didn’t bother to try a new voice.

“I noticed your potential darling, and Gerald here is going to help me realise it.”

“Well thank goodness I found you then” John managed to keep the sarcasm subtext, didn’t even roll his eyes slightly, kissed the smile from Sherlock before Gerald spotted something wasn’t quite right.

Gerald sighed at their little public display of affection, and cleared his throat. “Ok John, let’s get you measured up, then we can talk style.”  With a hand on his arm, Gerald guided John to the rear of the shop, motioned for him to step up onto the measuring platform. Sherlock collapsed into a nearby chair facing the line of full length mirrors, coat draped over his lap, legs casually crossed.

John removed his jumper and cast it to the floor, grinning at Sherlock and Gerald’s twin tut of disappointment.

“You will definitely treat this suit with more respect John” Sherlock warned, catching John’s eye in the mirror, sharing his grin. John still wasn’t sure why he was playing this role, but he seemed to be having fun and sometimes that was all that mattered.

 

 

Once Gerald started measuring, quick and professional, muttering quietly under his breath the time went by in a muted haze of hands gently guiding his limbs, the scratch of pencil on paper, Sherlock’s lazy, half lidded gaze in the mirror. It was soon over and John found he was feeling comfortably weightless; it was somehow warming to have two people focus on him so intently. Sherlock rose gracefully to his feet when they were finished, scooped up John’s jumper on the upward motion and threw it at him.

“Fabulous. Will you be a dear John and pop to get us coffee and pastries from the bakery down the street? I just need to discuss a few things with Gerald, and it’ll be _terribly_ boring for you.”

John took a step off the platform, leaning up and brushing fingertips along Sherlock’s jaw “Of course, anything for you sweetie” he replied, only half joking (excepting the sweetie part). Sherlock smiled indulgently and patted him on the bottom as he turned to leave. John to his credit managed to make it to the street before he burst out laughing, but he didn’t dare look back to catch Sherlock’s eye.

 

{~}~{~}~{~}~{~}

 

“So is flamboyant affectionate Sherlock going to be making another appearance?” John tried to keep his enquiry casual, keeping his eyes on the scenery flashing past the taxi window. The truth was John hadn’t come up with a good reason for why Sherlock had behaved like that on the first visit to the tailor (and although it had been fun, it was also vaguely discomforting).

Sherlock looked up from his phone “Why, did you prefer him to dramatic, ice cold Sherlock?”

John looked swiftly round, gauging the detective’s face for signs that he’d unintentionally hit a vulnerability, but saw only amusement. He relaxed back into the seat. “You know it’s just annoying me that Mr ultimately rational appears to have done something purely for the amusement factor. It’s out of character, and it means I’m missing something.”

Sherlock smiled wider “Well that only gives me an incentive to tease you more. It’s the only way you’ll learn. I will say only this – the young generally fail to discern the long term consequences of their actions.” He quirked an eyebrow, and turned his attention back to his phone.

“What the hell does that...oh what’s the point; you’re not going to tell me are you?”

“Score one for the blogger.”

John tried to think up a witty retort, but at that second the taxi pulled up outside the tailors and the moment was lost. Sherlock paid the driver, and fixed John with a look that was on the manic side of gleeful, setting off all sorts of alarms in John’s wary brain. Seeing his trepidation only made the grin wider, as he laced his arm through John’s and escorted him into the shop.

 

Gerald greeted them as warmly as before, apparently they were all on hugging terms now (but maybe that was normal for tailors, John didn’t exactly have a frame of reference here) ushering the pair of them to the rear of the building, and holding open the changing room door for John.

“Your suit is waiting for you in there John, come out when you’re ready.”

“Put the shirt on too darling, I want to see how it all works.”

John nodded a smile at both men and shut himself in the cubicle. He would be the first to admit that he knew nothing about fashion, and cared even less but the shirt Sherlock had picked out was pretty nice; off white silk with pale purple (fuchsia? Lavender?) stripes. He swiftly changed, grudgingly admiring the fit, and slightly shocked at how decadent and new the feel of silk against his skin was. He was just shrugging on the jacket when he heard the door handle jiggle as  _someone_ disengaged the lock. Sherlock stepped through the gap, closing it swiftly behind him and flicking the lock closed. John was looking at himself in the mirror, suddenly understanding how much difference good tailoring could make. The suit hugged him in all the right places, flattering his shape and accentuating his shoulders (and knowing the detective’s personal predilections regarding his rugby player’s build he was certain  _that_ wasn’t an accident). The whole ensemble even made him feel taller somehow, even though he knew that was impossible.  

Then he caught sight of Sherlock in the mirror, and his heart stopped. He was leaning back against the door, face flushed and he seemed to have difficulty drawing breath, eyes flickering at high speed across ever inch of John, memorising everything, and definitely liking what he was observing. John straightened, ran self conscious hands down the front of the jacket to smooth the lines, and when he heard the almost strangled gasp from behind him suddenly it all clicked into place.

 

He turned as slowly as he dared; appreciating the cadence of unsteady breaths he was drawing from his friend, until they were face to face. He couldn’t contain the grin that almost split his face in two. Sherlock was almost undone, visibly aroused, his normally precise gaze unfocused and needy.

“I take it that’s a seal of approval?”

Sherlock appeared unable to articulate a verbal reply, pushing himself off the wall of the cubicle with a growl, and in one fluid movement of gentle yet firm hands on his waist, reversing their positions. He stepped close, swept a lingering glance down the length of the shorter man’s body and without preamble dropped to his knees.

The back of John’s head struck the flimsy partition before he could stop it, the reality of what was about to happen (what this deal had  _really_   been about the whole time) hitting him. Sherlock paused, still kneeling, looking up at John waiting not so much for acquiescence as for acceptance. Glad that he was still (at least occasionally) able to surprise the all knowing lunatic, John said not a word, merely held Sherlock’s eyes as he swept the jacket away from his groin, and unhurriedly unzipped his fly.

He couldn’t stifle his grin when Sherlock’s mouth dropped open. He inclined his head “Go on then”

To his credit, Sherlock never needed asking twice. He immediately leaned in; bringing quick and clever hands to bear in revealing John’s flushed erection to the air. He licked his lips; eyes flickering to John’s in a mute expression of thanks before he opened his mouth and took him in.

John’s head again rebounded off the partition, somehow he never quite remembered how talented Sherlock was when he sufficiently motivated, and this was rapidly becoming one of those encounters for the history books. Sherlock was actually <i>groaning</i> around his cock, his mouth hot and greedy, tongue seemingly in three places at once, taking him fast and deep with both hands steadying his hips. John plucked blindly at Sherlock’s sleeve, dragging the hand up to his mouth, mutely begging to be stifled before he was overheard (and thanking a nonexistent deity for his lover’s unreasonably long limbs). Sherlock willingly curled three long graceful fingers into John’s mouth not giving him a moments respite from that tortuous suction and John felt his pleasure ratchet higher, if Sherlock kept up this frantic pace it was going to be over almost embarrassingly quickly.

John moved a hand to rest on the back of Sherlock’s head, and he felt rather than heard the guttural moan of desire from the other man, the hand at his hip suddenly disappearing (and John almost bit down on the fingers in his mouth when he realised what that hand was no doubt doing, sadly out of sight). John felt his legs begin to give as Sherlock somehow managed to suck him deeper and harder, beyond caring about the noise he slammed his hand onto the wall behind him in a desperate attempt to stay upright as he felt his orgasm race out of nowhere, blinding him so quickly he didn’t have time to choke out a warning as he came so hard he saw stars.

 

When he regained awareness of his body Sherlock was holding him upright, head buried in the crease between thigh and groin, hot unsteady breaths gusting across his over sensitive cock as Sherlock came down from his own high. John fondly stroked Sherlock’s curls until he angled his face upwards, their eyes meeting as they both broke into matching grins. Sherlock rocked back on his heels, and John couldn’t help the slight groan that escaped him at the sight of that face, swollen lipped and radiant.

“Well, I’ve  _never_ done that before.” They gasped in unison, before dissolving again into breathless laughter.

 

 

 


End file.
